3 AM
by Trill
Summary: It had been five years, and still he woke up screaming. (NickSara)


**3 A.M.**

Summary: It had been five years, and still he woke up screaming.

Pairing: Nick/Sara

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters you recognize, I do own the ones you don't.

Author's note: I haven't written anything CSI related in a long time, and this came to me all of the sudden this morning, along with ideas for two other stories. My muse likes to sneak up on me with a mallet, apparently. I appreciate any reviews, good or bad.

_**3 a.m**_

It had been five years, and still he woke up screaming.

Not as often as he used to, not anymore.

But it was still one or two times a week.

Sara would stir in her sleep, but she didn't wake up anymore.

He would lean against the headrest, breathing heavily and watching her sleep.

Soft moonlight silhouetted her body, highlighting the rise of her chest as she breathed, the slight bulge of her stomach. Hesitantly he reached out to touch her, but stopped short, not wanting to wake her. The girls had been fussy, and when she'd finally come to bed she'd tossed and turned for an hour, trying to get comfortable.

Nick had remained silently awake next to her. He couldn't let her know that he was awake. As far as she knew he was still taking his sedatives every night like a good boy, still falling into a dreamless sleep while she tucked in their two young children.

In their four and a half years together she'd gotten so used to the screams that she didn't hear it anymore. It had bothered her at first, she would wake up with him, try to comfort him. And at the time that was what he needed, but now he liked to be alone when it happened.

He silently got out of bed and followed the familiar path out of their room, past the girl's room, through the living room and out to the patio. He retrieved a half empty pack of Marlboros from the desk on his way out the door. It was a filthy habit that he had all but abandoned in his teens, but some nights it was the only thing that could calm him down. Sara and he tiptoed around the subject, never actually fighting about it, but their positions were clear just the same.

He settled into a hard plastic chair and watched his newly lit cigarette burn. He took a long drag from it, then turned his attention to the yard. The pool needed to be cleaned; he would get to that tomorrow.

There was an unassembled Fisher Price playhouse on the edge of the patio. A gift for Alyssa's third birthday, from Sara's aunt or cousin or something.

Actually, it was a second present.

She had originally sent a green turtle-shaped sandbox. Sara had sent it back, trying to explain in as few words as possible why their kids couldn't have a sandbox.

Nick shuddered reflexively at the thought of Alyssa burying Chelsea in the sand.

He put out his half smoked cigarette and tossed it into an empty flowerpot beside his chair. He rose and stretched his sore back.

The sliding door seemed so loud at night; every time he opened it he was sure the screech of the casters would wake everyone in the house. Slowly, just like he had opened it, he closed the door and went into the kitchen. As he filled a glass with cold water from the door of the fridge he looked at the pictures stuck to it with bright alphabet magnets.

There was a painting of a tree, and maybe a cat or dog beside it, done entirely in blue and pink, with Alyssa spelled out in green yellow and orange magnets, the y upside down.

Pictures of Chelsea standing up in her crib, everyone from the lab at Sara's 'surprise' birthday party last month, Nick's brother and his family on a beach somewhere in Hawaii.

A still from Sara's ultrasound the day before was stuck at eye level, "It's a boy!" scrawled in big white letters beside the image of their next child.

He drank the water in three big gulps and headed back to the bedroom. As he passed the girl's room he heard Chelsea whimpering softly. He stuck his head in and saw her lying on her stomach in her crib, clutching her purple teddy bear for dear life. She was still asleep, but her face was scrunched up and little tears trailed from her eyes to her pillow. He debated waking her, wondering how bad her dream was.

She wasn't quite two yet, what horrors could her innocent mind possibly come up with?

Was there some Disney villain that attacked her at night?

As long as her dreams were somewhat safe from the real evils of the world he decided to leave her to them.

He rubbed her back, and she calmed at his touch, loosening her death grip on the bear. After a second she sighed and relaxed. He re-covered her with her blanket and turned.

Sara was standing in the doorway, his bathrobe on her shoulders.

"Is she asleep?" she asked.

Nick nodded, "yeah, she was having a nightmare-"

"You didn't take your pill."

"Uh, yeah, I thought I would be okay for tonight…"

"Bullshit!" she hissed, pulling him into the hallway, "you haven't taken one in at least two months! Do you think I don't notice you getting up at night? I'm not as deep of a sleeper as you think."

So she knew.

He took a moment to digest the fact that his secret was out. "I can't live like that, Sara. I'm a zombie on those things. I don't want the girls to see me like that."

She dropped her hands to her sides. "And this is better? You wake them up at night with your screaming, Nick. Alyssa has nightmares that someone's killing you! She's three and she's afraid to go to sleep at night!"

"I didn't know…"

Sara was crying now. "Of course you didn't know! We don't talk anymore, Nick. We go to work and we come home and…" she rested her hand on her belly, just starting to show, and focused her eyes on the floor. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Nick."


End file.
